One wishes to be remembered which is why one does what one does.
Do not mention death to me or how the days spiral flow blend.
Talk to me instead of the sweetness that follows when the mark
has been made. Is this why teenagers carve park benches or
vagabond graffiti artists spray-paint grey buildings into finite
whirls of color? Or why we create snow-angels or update statuses
or micro-blog or blog or take photographs to be liked? There is the
common desire to be liked which is why social media is flourishing
since everyone is an artist to a degree. Cast your spell on me like you
cast your spell on me in any given moment that I look your way.
But it should be more than just look at me! there ought to be
something there to see, right? of course, the piece should say
something or else what is the point. We love art because there is
a point to it and when we observe that point we become freer
in our realities in that we can, say, experience the wind without
justifying it we can, say, dive into the river without corresponding
the reaction to a bout of ecstasy. We are overcome and when we
are overcome we do things out of character or to project our own
character, and to amplify it. This loud speaker, that piece of paper
and pen, this paintbrush, that camera. There are revelations in the
life of artists which are mostly occurred when the artist is making
art. But what is an artist after all is he or she an artist if only he
or she gets paid? What is the difference between an amateur
and a professional artist? A neophyte and a master? Is it a
question of enthusiasm? To make art is to give in to an urge.
To splurge on spiritual excess. To tame the mind or register
the mind which obviously contains a cave or a sky to which
messages are sent, truths about what is outside the realms
and boundaries of the mundane, and of every day experience
that is with some luck put down to the benefit the enhancement
of the human counterpart that is mostly languishing there where
oxygen also happens to be in abundance of. Take note of this.
This is a world of relentless paradox. Some things just get under
your skin. Some things just take hold. There are lives that yearn
to be told. We are more than just consumers. We are also channels.
Through us truth is said. Genius is not only a good idea that defies con
siderable expectations. Genius has also to do with where the idea comes from.
Plato an ancient Greek philosopher said that everything in this world
is a copy of an original that exists in a parallel dimension in a perfect
state. What would a perfect tree look like when actual trees are so
beautiful they might make us weep. This is why an artist can captivate us.
With a tree on a page like the tree in a parallel dimension
that we suddenly get to see when before we couldn’t see.
In conclusion there are trees and there are trees
and a tree deserves time time in which the tree becomes
a tree time in which the viewer gazes at the tree and the tree
breaks open and the viewer sees what exists within the tree
the force of life the feather of the quill where the viewer
participates in the creation or prolongation of the tree
by looking at a tree and saying This is a tree.